To Fight Without Fists or Guns
by Emily Laughs
Summary: What if Belle had taken a moment in the West Wing after the ballroom scene to consider what she was doing before she left? What if she said "I love you" first? An alternate 3rd act/ending to the movie, with the Beast facing the climax in human form.
1. She Couldn't Leave Him in This Despair

A/N: Okay, before we get started, the story starts just after the ballroom scene, after the Beast releases Belle. It always rather bothered me that she just left him there, seemingly oblivious to the emotional struggle going on within the Beast.

I hope you like it! I'm having a blast getting it worked out! :D

-Em

* * *

"Thank you for understanding how much he needs me." Belle's hands slipped away from his paws, his soft paws. One, two, three steps away, she stopped, her head down. "Maybe... maybe you could... maybe you could come... with me?"

She turned her head over her shoulder tentatively, to see the effect her words had caused.

The Beast wasn't looking at her. She couldn't see his eyes. "No. No, you should go to your father."

Two forces pulled her in opposite directions: her father, cold, alone, sick; and Beast, here. Her eyes grazed the room, the dreaded West Wing from her first night in the castle. That night, he had screamed at her, afraid to let her here. Afraid that she'd do him damage. Then, it had been littered with the objects of his torment, broken chairs, shattered mirrors, and that slashed painting, a painting of a man with blue eyes, bluer than the sky...

And yet, tonight here she stood in this room, in his heart, his inner sanctum. The broken chairs, the objects—these all had been cleared away. Cleared away, she imagined, to let her in.

She turned again to look at him. Even now, his face was turned away, his figure hunched. So much pain. Beside him, there was the rose, a glowing, beautiful thing, the thing he had been so fiercely protective of that first night.

_"Do you realize what you could have DONE?"_

Even now, those words terrified her, spoken themselves in such terror from him. She had never questioned that night or those words. So much had happened. But now she—they—had come full circle.

That rose, she saw, was different now. It had nearly wilted. Only a few shining petals still clung stubbornly to the stem. The Beast did not look at the thing, favoring the view of a shadowed corner. What did those petals mean? Would he die when they fell? What would happen? He had never explained it; she had never asked. Still, it was obvious to her that this rose was key to whatever enchantment had afflicted this castle, whatever made plates sing and a man—

—the man in the painting with eyes bluer than the sky—

—become a beast.

Beast, Beast... what sort of a name was Beast? He'd not always been a beast. In her heart, she could see that this was true. His eyes, they were the eyes of a man, one with a heart and soul and fire. What had happened to him? Who had he been before... whatever happened had happened?

The mirror's handle still felt cold in her hand, a mirror he gave her to remember him by. Remember him, as though she'd never return—and suddenly it hit her. No, she hadn't been his prisoner for quite some time. This was where she belonged.

She turned around and spanned the distance between them in measured, cautious steps, attempting to ignore the way that her heart was banging in her chest, in her ears, bringing an unwelcome blush to her cheeks. She thought she might be sick.

She placed the mirror back on the table carefully, afraid to break it or scratch it, the gift he had just given her.

The Beast's eyes were suddenly there, looking at her. His expression conveyed confusion, that much she could tell.

She found it difficult to find her voice. "...Tell me your name. Please, before I go."

His beastly ears fell. He turned away. "I—I don't have a name."

"But you must. Everyone has a name."

"Belle, just go..." It wasn't the roar of dissent she had grown accustomed to in the beginning, months ago. Instead, his voice was soft, soft and sad.

She placed a hand on one of his enormous paws. "I will return."

He pulled away, and said nothing, then made his way out onto his balcony. His head was stooped and she saw his chest rise and fall in a silent sigh.

She couldn't leave him like this, in this despair.

"Beast..." she said, "I love you."

His head jolted up in shock, his mouth open, revealing the points of his teeth. Belle did not look away and stood, staring at him, entirely frozen. She waited, not breathing, not at all sure what he would do. She hadn't meant to say those specific words, but now that she had said them, she understood how much she meant them.

He stood up straighter. "You—You couldn't." He took a step forward. "You love me?"

"I promise, I will return to you. And soon."

And just like that, she ran out of the room.


	2. Why Hadn't He Just Told Her?

**A/N: Hey! You made it to the second chapter! That's a good sign, right?**

**If you didn't notice, I'm using limited 3rd. Chapter 1 was from Belle's perspective. This one is in the Beast's perspective. I'm flipping the perspective between the two for a while. (It flips to Maurice later on, but that's neither here nor there.)**

**Thanks for reading! :D**

**-Emily**

* * *

The Beast stood in shock out on the balcony. Why hadn't he said it? Why hadn't he just told her?

But she loved him. She loved him, she had said it herself. She loved him.

He glanced at the mirror on the table. She hadn't taken the item with her.

The Beast looked out on the stars. The sky was oddly clear this night. She loved him.

A voice from behind him, Cogsworth, a little giggly almost, intensely pleased: "Well, your Highness, I must say everything is going just peachy. I knew you had it in you."

The Beast did not turn from his view. "She loves me."

"Ha, ha, ha, yes. Splend—" Cogsworth's voice suddenly cut off. "She what?"

"She told me she loves me."

Cogsworth sputtered behind him. "A-A-And... what did you say to her?"

"I—I said nothing. I let her go."

"You what? How could you... do that? Why didn't you say—why didn't you _say_ anything to her?" Cogsworth's voice sounded like a plea.

"I... had released her and she, she told me that she loved me. Then, she just ran away."

The Beast turned away from the night sky and to his servant, the Majordomo, the clock. The man-turned-thing's eyes were enormous. "Yes, but—but why didn't you _respond_?"

"I don't know."

Cogsworth's eyes moved to view the rose. The Beast looked too then, and he noticed that while he had been looking at the sky, another petal had fallen, leaving only two remaining.

"We must find her," the clock said with a sudden burst of focus, half hopping, half walking towards the Beast. "We must find her and you must tell her how you feel. Immediately."

"But her father. She needs to go and help him. She said he was all alone. He could be dying."

"Yes, and you'll be much better suited to help him if you have a staff full of human beings, Master."

"Human beings. Human... again."

"Prince Adam!" The Beast looked down in surprise to where Cogsworth was stomping at his feet. That name, his name. Adam. It was never to be spoken again. Never again. The clock man's face was pink. He looked like he was going to lose his gears. The Beast had never seen him in such a state. "The rose! The girl! Master, please!"

Only a few months ago, Cogsworth never would have made such a display around the Master. No one would have dared. He or she would have been subject to a terrible fury. The Beast had been a monster. But the Beast felt no rage at this display. None at all.

He was not a monster anymore. Not in his soul, and not to Belle.

He heard the sounds of hooves clattering against the bridge outside.

Beast ran to the edge of the balcony. There she was, cloaked in purple, halfway across the bridge over the chasm.

"Belle!" He called out. "Belle!"

If she heard him, she did not respond. And in a moment, she was gone, gone into the thick of the woods beyond the castle gates.

"Belle..." he whispered, leaning against the railing.

She would return, but by then, it could be too late. And it wasn't just him at stake. Perhaps, perhaps she'd still have him even... like this. She had fallen in love with a beast. Perhaps, she'd—but she deserved better than this. She deserved everything he'd had, everything he could give... as Adam.

And the servants. They deserved better than an eternity of this. They deserved to get their lives back. Ten years of this. Ten years, and yet, while most of the staff feared him, who resented him? No one, and yet, all of this was his fault. He had to make it right, for her, for them. There was still time.

He looked at the rose. Two petals. Still two. There was time.

"Master?"

The Beast glanced down at the clock. "I'm going to make this right, Cogsworth. I'm going to find her."

And on all fours, he dashed out of the room, snatching up the mirror on his way out.

* * *

The clothes were constricting. They were slowing him down. He had to find her, but thank God for the snow. Her steed's tracks were fresh and obvious.

He ripped off the blue coat, the vest, the shirt. They could be retrieved and mended later. For now, he had to reach her. The Beast bounded across the snow. Her and her father. Bring them back to the castle. Tell her the thing he had failed to. Tell her...

"Tell her I love her," he said in a whisper.

And then he crashed in the snow ahead of him, face first.

* * *

The Beast couldn't remember ever feeling so cold.

His eyes opened. His face was resting just above the snow. How long had he been passed out? A moment? An hour? The Beast felt entirely disoriented. He lifted himself up.

And then saw it. Arms. Hands. Skin.

He scrambled up, noticing how awkward he felt doing so. He felt... small.

He looked down. The hands in front of him moved when he went to touch his chest. They were his. The fronts, the backs, no fur, no claws. He touched his face. Cheeks, brows, lips—such soft lips! He was human.

Human. Finally.

But how?

He thought back—was that all it took? Those seconds after she left the room, he could have done it then? After she said those words, all he had to do was say them back? She didn't even need to be near him? Or hear them?

He laughed at himself, and then laughed more, hearing the human sound of it. He had forgotten what his own laughter sounded like. When had he heard it before, though? The Beast had been a boy then, and a bored one at that. His laughter had come infrequently and sounded nothing like the sound he just released.

"I'm a different person now," he said out loud to himself and the trees and the world, not wanting that phrase to be kept inside himself. "Or, at least I hope I am."

He felt intensely cold. His feet, they were freezing, bare against the snow. His chest, too, and his arms. He regretted tearing off the coat and shirt so hastily. As big as they would be now, they could have served him well wrapped over his shoulders. He looked around. No, the coat was far back. He had been bounding so fast. The Beast, the former Beast, looked ahead to the hoof prints in the snow. Nothing new had fallen over them to conceal them. He looked back. How far had he travelled? One mile? Two? Three? No, the castle was too far, he couldn't even see the form of it through the bare trees and what if Belle had run into trouble?

_Not that there's much I can do, half naked in the snow._

Surely the village was closer. He'd meet Belle there.

He slapped his forehead, and then felt surprised by the sound of skin hitting skin instead of fur hitting fur. The mirror. The magic mirror. It was so obvious. But Belle was the smart one of them.

The Beast, the former Beast, looked down to retrieve it from his waistband. It wasn't there.

"Oh, no."

He cast a glance around. He noticed the glint of it a few yards away, near a tree. It must have been cast off when he transformed. He jogged over to it and picked the thing up, shaking the snow off the surface of the glass.

"Show me Belle."

A smile came to his lips. She had found her father and was slowly working her way through the snow back, he figured, to her house. Perhaps he could catch up with her, after all.

He looked at his exposed feet. It was a bad idea to do this. He knew it. But going back to the castle was also a bad idea. Both locations were a little far, especially as unaccustomed as he was to his restored form.

But he had to try.


	3. He's No Monster, Gaston

Belle's father's eyes fluttered open. "Belle?"

"It's all right, Papa. I'm home."

His face lit up with relief. "I thought I'd never see you again."

She hugged him. "I missed you so much."

Her father's face turned serious, alarmed. "But the beast. How did you escape?"

"I didn't escape, Papa. He let me go."

"That horrible beast?"

"He's different, now. He's changed somehow."

"Changed? He threw you in a tower!"

"No, that was only just the first night. He came and got me right away. There's more to him than that side of him that you saw. He was terrible, yes. But there's something else there. It hard to see because he's so... angry so much."

Belle looked away. She didn't like the way her father was looking at her, so much concern.

"Belle, did he ever hurt you?"

"Oh, no. No, he'd never do that."

She looked back over to her father and she didn't think he believed her.

Three knocks sounded at the door. Belle glanced at her father questioningly and then went to the door.

"May I help you?"

The man, with thin, long white hair and heavy circles under his eyes made her want to shudder.

"I've come to collect your father." He stepped aside, allowing her to see a cart outside her home with the name of the asylum on the side.

Her eyes widened. "My father?"

"Don't worry, mademoiselle. We'll take good care of him."

It was then that Belle noticed that a crowd had come to watch.

"My father's not crazy!" she said, feeling anger rising within her.

LeFou stepped forward from the others in the crowd, smirking at her with a bizarre kind of triumph on his face. "He was raving like a lunatic! We all heard him, didn't we?"

The crowd shouted their agreement. It was terrible to hear.

She looked at the old man, starting to feel desperate. "No, I won't let you."

Her father came beside her. "Belle?"

LeFou's smirk widened to a full smile. "Ah, Maurice. Tell us again, old man, just how big was the beast?"

Her father looked down, trying to recall with certitude. "Well, he was...that is... enormous." He used to hands to demonstrate. "I'd say at least eight... no, more like ten feet—"

The assembled villagers broke out in laughter, cutting her father off.

"Well," said LeFou, still laughing, "you don't get much crazier than that!"

Her father shouted to them all, "It's true I tell you!" It only elicited more laughter from the crowd. How could they just laugh?

The old man waved for his men and they bodily lifted her father from the ground.

Belle stooped down to the old man, pleading on his arm, "No, you can't do this!" He shook her off and started towards the cart.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Belle knew that voice. She spun around. Gaston. "Poor Belle. It's a shame about your father." It sounded like a mockery of concern but, but he knew, he knew her father.

"You know he's not crazy, Gaston."

He turned away, a little coy. "I might be able to clear up this little misunderstanding, if..." His voice trailed off.

"If what?"

He rounded on her. "If you marry me."

Belle drew back. "What?"

"One little word, Belle. That's all it takes." His smile repulsed her.

"Never!"

He turned around in disgust. "Have it your way."

"Belle?" her father cried out as the men started to move him again. "Let go of me!" She turned just in time to see her father getting thrown in the cart and locked away. There was nothing she could do, nothing she could do. If only she had brought the mirror. He was still sick. He could die in an asylum. She had to prove he wasn't crazy.

"My father's not crazy and I can prove it! That's where I've been all these months! I was the Beast's prisoner!"

The crowd looked like they were about to start jeering again, until—

"Where?" Gaston turned back around, his eyes narrowing.

"To the north. Northwest, following the main trail. My father took a wrong fork a few months ago, one everyone thinks leads nowhere. He was on the way to a fair with one of his inventions. That's how it happened. And I just went to find him. He was locked up in a tower and I—I took his place."

Gaston approached her. "And just what does this beast look like?"

"My father said it. He's about eight or nine feet tall. He, he has a tail, horns, brown fur, claws..."

Belle could see the gleam of desire in his eyes but didn't understand why.

"Do you believe me, Gaston?"

He continued to stare at her face, judging her.

"Yes."

The crowd gasped.

"Is it dangerous?" one woman cried out.

"Oh, no," Belle said, turning to the crowd. "He'd never hurt anyone. I know the description I gave makes him seem vicious, but he's really kind, and gentle. He's my friend."

Gaston turned her to face him. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you had feelings for this monster."

"He's no monster, Gaston. You are!"

She saw the anger rise in Gaston, so different than the anger she saw in the Beast. Beast's anger came from he feelings of being flawed. Gaston's came from his belief of complete perfection.

"She's as crazy as the old man! If this beast is real it will make off with your children! He'll come after them in the night!"

The crowd gasped.

"No!" Belle tried to grasp Gaston's arm.

"We're not safe 'til his head's mounted on my wall! I say we kill the beast!"

She turned to the crowd. How could this happen? They were agreeing with Gaston, cheering him. He yelled, egging them on, and they in turn, drove him further. Gaston lit a fire and mimicked a monster chasing LeFou around the flames.

"Kill the beast!"

Belle grabbed onto Gaston. "No, I won't let you do this!"

"You're going to lead us there! And if you're lying..." At the look in his eyes, Belle felt terror, but with that terror came defiance. He grabbed the top of her arm. "Bring the old man!"

Men retrieved Belle's father from the asylum cart. "Get your hands off me!"

"Throw him in the cellar! We can't have him running off to warn the creature!"

"Belle?"

"Papa!"

The men slammed the doors and bolted them.

Belle tried to shake off the grip, but Gaston only held her tighter. "We'll rid the village of this beast. Who's with me?"

To her horror, she heard a chorus of agreement.

* * *

A/N: So, no Chip. I figured that since she didn't take the mirror, she wouldn't have taken the bag. I had fun filling in the conversation that Chip interrupted.

No mob song, either, since I didn't want to work a song into the relatively realistic prose. (And then, to Belle's horror, they all began to sing, as if they'd all just finished viewing an episode of Glee! ...Nope. Doesn't work. Not in this story, anyway.)

"Gleam of desire in Gaston's eyes," hm? On the edit, I realized that this could sound like a lead-in to a... different sort of fic. *Shudders* Just to clarify, no! It's a gleam of, "Gee, that'd look nice on my wall." Nothing more.

-Emily :D


	4. The Beast, the Man Now

_Previously: The Beast was transformed back into his human form while following Belle's tracks in the snow. Unfortunately, he transformed without shoes on. (I mean, did you ever see the Beast with shoes? Neither did I.) Meanwhile, Gaston coerced Belle into leading him to the Beast's castle shortly after she arrived with her father at the cottage. Maurice was locked in the cellar._

* * *

The Beast, the man now, could hardly feel his feet as he stumbled, foot by foot, yard by yard, only focusing on the prints, following the prints. His feet had burned for a time, but oddly, now they had stopped. It was a relief, but it scared him. It didn't even feel like he was walking on feet anymore. It was as if he was walking on pegs. Peg legs. Like a pirate. Belle had read him a story once of a pirate. He had a peg leg.

Belle.

The prints suddenly became unclear. So many prints, crushed snow everywhere. He looked up. He hadn't even noticed that he was approaching a cottage. Belle's cottage perhaps? Her home?

Belle. How would he explain this? She wouldn't know him with this face and this body. But he'd just, he'd say something. She loved him back. That was all that mattered. In his mind's eye, he imagined her caring spirit, her pulling him inside, covering him with a blanket. Even though he would look like a stranger, he knew she'd help.

_Because she's better than me. She would have helped the old woman that night, ten years ago._

"I promise," he whispered, "I've learned to be a better man."

He knocked on the door and waited. And waited. He knocked again. "Belle!"

No response. He pulled the mirror from his waistband. "Show me Belle."

There she was. It was a forest. She looked angry, her jaw was jutted forward, her eyes tilting upwards toward a man. The man was large, tall and muscular. His hand gripped Belle's arm. It was a tight grip, too tight. All the weakness left the beast-turned-man as rage lit up his features. What had happened to her? Who was this man? Where was he taking her?

And where...?

"Show me Belle's father," he said to the mirror.

A cellar. An older man was trying to pry open a window in a cellar.

The Beast, not a beast now, looked around. There was a cellar door here, bolted from the outside. He ran over to it, almost losing his balance on his cold, numbed feet. He threw open the bolt on the doors and swung them out.

The old man looked up. "Who are you?"

Yes, this was Belle's father, the one he had not let Belle say goodbye to. The last time he had seen this man, he had imprisoned him.

"My name is... Adam. I'm a... friend of Belle's. From... the castle."

It would do him no good to try to explain now, or to try to win the man's trust after what he had done those months ago. Better to start fresh, for now.

The man seemed surprised. "From the castle?

"Yes. What happened to Belle?"

The older man scrambled up the cellar steps. "They took her! They took her so she could lead them to the beast so they can kill him."

"Who took her?"

"Gaston and the villagers."

"How many?"

"I don't know... maybe forty, maybe fifty men. I'm not sure."

Fifty men. Far too many men. How could the castle possibly defend against that many, and with no warning?

"How long ago was this?"

"Not long. Not long at all. Are you going to go save her?"

The Beast, Adam, felt his legs giving out. But he needed his strength more than ever.

"Where is your shirt? Why aren't you wearing shoes?"

Adam started to fall forward, "I have to... I have to save Belle. This is all my fault."

Belle's father caught him. "Come on into the house, son. We'll get you some proper clothes. Come on."

The older man lead Adam into his cottage and helped him into a chair.

"I'm Maurice. I'm Belle's father."

Maurice. He hadn't even learned her father's name in these months.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Maurice."

Maurice left the room and returned in under a minute with a shirt and an old pair of boots. "The shirt won't fit, but I think the boots'll be all right. I'm short, but my feet are pretty big for my size." He chuckled, but the look of worry on his face hadn't faded.

"My feet... my feet are burning."

Maurice looked at Adam's feet. "Come closer to the fire." Maurice moved behind the chair and pushed it close to the fireplace.

Here was this man, helping him, the monster who had locked the man in a tower for the simple crime of seeking shelter from the rain and cold. Here he was, helping him, giving freely and without malice. And Belle, Belle...

The prince dropped his face into his hands and started to weep.

"Oh," said the older man, surprised, "you'll be all right."

Adam dried his eyes. What was doing? And yet the tears were still coming. How could he sit here feeling sorry for himself while Belle was being manhandled?

"No, it's not that. You're being so kind to me, and I'm—"

Maurice nodded. "You're what?"

Adam shook his head, rubbing his face. "I'm sorry. Thank you." Adam reached out his hands and Maurice handed him the garment and the shoes.

Adam pulled on the shirt. The sleeves were a little short, but it was certainly better than nothing. Next, he went to pull on the shoes. His feet were tender to the touch. He didn't want to pull the shoes on, he didn't want to—but he had to. Adam pulled one shoe on, wincing.

"Adam," the older man ventured, "perhaps you should stay here."

"No. I got her into this mess. And the others in the castle, I must return to warn them. Do you have a horse?"

"Why, yes. Yes, Phillipe's just outside."

Adam pulled on the other shoe, wincing again. He stood. The pain was immense. He felt like he might throw up. He needed his old anger back. He needed the Beast to fight the beast that had her now.

He pulled the mirror again from his waist band. He glanced up at Maurice and saw a curious look there.

"Show me Belle."

The mirror flashed green.


	5. Yes, Believe that I've Lied

**A/N: Thanks to RaeRae and SamoaPhoenix for reviewing my work so far! Your words were very encouraging. It's funny, Samoa, because I was actually just starting your "Kissed by a Rose" story in another tab when I saw your comment. I'm only on the second chapter, "Belle," though.**

**As far as keeping the story going, I already have drafts through Chapter 10 complete, so I'm not going anywhere. I still have to go back through and proof and edit them before submitting, or they'd already be up. On that note, I read back through my previous chapters just now and caught maybe 4 slap-my-forehead-obvious punctuation errors in the copy for Chapter 4. That's what I get for trying to edit really late, after doing other work. Sorry about that.**

**I'm glad people are enjoying the story so far. Full speed ahead!**

**-Em :D**

* * *

_Previously: Belle has been coerced into leading Gaston and the mob through the woods to the castle to kill the beast. Meanwhile, Adam (the Beast), now a human man, is in Belle's cottage with Maurice. He has heard that Belle has been taken and asked the mirror to show her to him._

* * *

"We've been wandering for an hour, Belle. You're toying with us!"

"No," Belle looked around. "I was sure it was close."

But she knew full well the castle wasn't near. By now, her father had hopefully had enough time to get out of the cellar and far away from the cottage and if she could keep her friends from the castle safe with her subterfuge, she'd keep stringing them along until the whole mob believed her stories of a beast were lies.

_This won't end well for me._

She had given up on any hope of a rescue from the Beast like that first night with the wolves. She imagined that he'd use the mirror to see her and perhaps, when he saw that she was in trouble, perhaps then he'd come. But she knew that was no good. There were fifty men. Powerful as the Beast was, that was too many men. She was on her own.

It had occurred to her, too, that maybe he had watched as she gave away the location of the castle. He might not have seen why. He might believe she had betrayed them all. But she told him she loved him. Perhaps it was enough.

Gaston threw her down on the snow.

"There was a beast, was there?"

_Yes, yes. Believe that I've lied._

"Yes! I know we must be close!"

"Liar! What are you trying to do—make a fool of Gaston?"

"No!"

"No one makes a fool of Gaston!"

His anger was rising. She daren't say anything now.

"So, just where have you been these last months?"

She didn't like his tone. It was suspicious.

"I was helping my father with one of his inventions in another town. He came back to the village to fetch some of his tools, but when he returned to where we were staying, I saw that he had become quite ill, so I've been tending to him there. We came back his evening so that he have his own bed to rest better in."

"What town?"

Think fast.

"Neufchatel."

Neufchatel? Belle felt a sort of internal horror at the incompetance of her lie.

"Isn't—," said a man from the crowd. "Isn't that a type of cheese?"

"Yes," Belle hurried on. "It's their specialty. It's a light-colored cheese, kind of grainy. But salty."

No one said anything for a moment. She waited, suddenly realizing that her story just might fly.

"So, the old man is crazy!" LeFou said, stepping forward.

"We were set upon by wolves during the first trip. We managed to fight them off, but it was a terrible experience. As sick as he is, this event became twisted in his mind, I fear."

So many lies. But that was sort of true, wasn't it?

Gaston came very close to her face said in a low, dangerous voice, "You lied to me. I'll break you of that habit, Belle, and then I'll take you for my wife before sunset tomorrow."

"I will never marry you!"

"You will," he dropped his voice so that only she could hear, "or this monster you are so fond of dies by my hands. I promise you this."

As Belle's eyed widened, in shock that her lies hadn't worked on him at all, he pulled her to her feet and addressed the crowd, but pretended as though he were addressing Belle.

"Ah, Belle, what a terrible misunderstanding! You were so afraid for your father you made up a wild tale to save him. You almost had us believing your crazy story!" He laughed, and so LeFou laughed, too, and then the townsfolk. "Such a noble effort, but so misguided! Come, let's all go home."

Gaston yanked her arm to follow him. "And you're coming home with me."

* * *

A/N: Sorry about the Neufchatel thing. I hope it didn't pull you out of the story very much. It was the first French name that popped into my head and I enjoyed it way too much to cut it. I went ahead afterward and looked up the origins of the cheese and discovered that the original, French variety is quite different than the cream cheese-y thing typically sold in supermarkets. I changed my description of the cheese to make it no longer anachronistic. You learn something everyday.

And yeah, it's a pretty short chapter. Chapter 6 will be, too.


	6. Monsieur, I'm the One, It Was Me

**A/N: Wow! Thanks so much for all the reviews! I'm sitting here wearing this silly grin that just won't leave my face. I'll keep it coming!**

**-Emily :D**

* * *

_Previously: Belle diverted Gaston and the mob from the castle with desperate lies. Although Belle successfully convinced the mob that the Beast didn't exist and Gaston called off the hunt, he saw through her and promised Belle that he'd kill the Beast if she didn't marry him. He also told her she was coming home with him._

* * *

Adam had seen enough and tucked the mirror away. Maurice still stared at the thing in wonder, but Adam was too enraged to explain. He still stood. His feet protested, but he didn't care. This man, this Gaston, he would never have Belle. He'd kill the man himself. Rip out his throat, throw him off a mountain, it didn't matter how. This man would die. But how?

Belle had led them from the castle, this much was clear. His servants were safe. All he had to focus on was Belle. How, how, how could he save her?

He looked at his hands. He'd never fired a gun, never handled a sword—fencing lessons as a boy, yes, but it so long ago. He never thought he'd wish to see claws and fur. He could have ripped the man—that evil, monstrous man—to bits.

"Adam?"

The prince looked up, and was surprised at the look of fear on Maurice's face. Fear, veiled this time, but it was much the same sort of fear as the man had displayed upon their first meeting. It sent a jolt through the former beast. Was his expression truly that horrible?

"Yes? Maurice?"

"Pardon me for asking, but... how exactly do you know my daughter?"

Adam tried to study the man. He couldn't discern much, only the fear, perhaps a shade of suspicion. Something else was there, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was. He needed a story, but he'd never been much of a liar. He had never felt the necessity of doing so. Everyone used to jump at his commands. Because they were afraid of him.

"Monsieur—" he began. Adam let his forehead fall into his right hand.

"Why don't you sit down again?"

"Thank you." Adam sat, and then looked up at the man in front of him.

"Monsieur, I'm the one who imprisoned you. I took your daughter as my prisoner. It was me."

"What?" The old man smiled, disbelieving. "The thing that took me was a terrible beast!"

Adam gave him a steady look. "Yes."

Maurice stared at him, still smiling a little. But then, the smile began to fade. The old man drew back.

Adam looked down to the boots he had just been given. "I can understand if you want to throw me out. I should have been honest from the beginning. I have no right to receive your kindness."

After a moment, Adam felt a hand on his left shoulder. "Everyone has a right to kindness, my boy. Even a beast, I suppose. And I guess my daughter knew that."

Adam looked up, surprised. The man, Maurice, was giving him a very gentle, sad look.

"This man, this Gaston, you know where he lives?"

Maurice's brows furrowed. "What were you going to do?"

_I'm going to kill him._

"I don't know."

"Gaston's quite the huntsman. Strong, tall—a big, big man. The whole village knows he can fell anything, anything at all. You look pretty strong yourself, but..." Maurice looked away. "I just doubt you're a match for him."

Adam scowled. "I was thinking the same... But we've got to get her away from him. She's sacrificing herself on my account. It's wrong, after everything—!"

"There, there," the man said, patting Adam's shoulder. "We'll think of something. You know, I'm nearly a world famous inventor..."


	7. He's Just a Man Who Gets What He Wants

_Previously: Belle found herself in a pickle: she could either marry Gaston or let the Beast be killed. Meanwhile, the Beast, or Prince Adam, knows of the situation via the mirror and stews in his relatively impotent rage and starts to work with Maurice to formulate a plan._

* * *

***Skip this note if you haven't read the chapter yet***  
Edit (6/4/10): I altered this chapter to modify Belle's actions a bit, making her entirely unwilling to go through with her original idea and horrified at herself for even considering such things. This, in turn, changes the character of the scene a great deal, I think for the better. Different things are said. Thanks to everyone who commented.

* * *

Belle stared at the dark haired man, sleeping soundly in his high-backed chair. She remembered him laughing when she had expressed surprise at him not tying her up.

"Oh, Belle," he had said, a huge smile on his arrogant face. "You're not going anywhere. We both know what'll happen if you do."

She found her hands fiddling with her cloak. One strip. Wrap it around her hands. Around his neck it would go, tight as dental floss. Problem solved.

No, she thought, he'd throw her off long before the deed was done.

On his belt. A hunting knife. Small, light, deadly. She'd never get through his chest muscles, but his neck, that thick, beastly neck. She could get through that. One big stab.

No, he'd wake up before the knife was out of the scabbard.

Belle's eyes raked the room again.

There. The musket.

Belle slowly, slowly made her way across the room, the wood floor giving with each step just a little, making tiny little creaks, not being cooperative at all. Slowly, slowly. Her fingers wrapped around the barrel of the gun. It was going to be heavy. She prepared herself for the weight.

A single heft. She placed the gun against her shoulder. She'd never fired a gun this big before. It was even heavier than she imagined. But a gun was a gun. At only a few feet, she couldn't miss. She hoped the recoil wouldn't break her shoulder, but that was a risk she was just going to have to take.

She looked at him there, sleeping soundly. A bullet, so close, it could do so much harm. She thought of the way it would leave an awful hole, an irreparable hole. His life would flee from it, his spirit, his soul. Everything human about him immediately ripped away and then, yes, it all would be done. The horror of it gave her goosebumps and a terrible feeling in both her heart and her stomach.

She pulled the gun away from her shoulder quickly, not wanting to feel it there anymore, not wanting to feel it and remember her original evil intentions. For a moment, she had seriously considered an act of murder. Killing a man. Who was the monstrous one now?

"There's no bullets in that thing, you know."

Belle's head jerked up and the gun slipped and hit the floor, making her whole body jump in surprise and alarm and the thing clattered at her feet.

Gaston just laughed. "You were really considering it, weren't you?"

Belle looked down, feeling awful, vivid shame. She felt herself blushing.

Gaston stood up from his chair. "I probably would have done that in your shoes. Of course, I would have succeeded in the deed. I never lose my nerve." He laughed again. "So, I wonder how your father's doing, alone in that cellar? You said he was sick, didn't you?"

"I knew you were a boorish man, Gaston, but I never suspected before tonight that you were an evil one, as I see that you are."

"And so... why not kill me?"

She could detect amusement in his tone. Now, he was the one toying with her.

Belle considered herself and slowly began. "I... couldn't... cause something like that. And... then any chance you had at redemption, any good you might have still done, I would have... taken it away in an instant. What a... horrible thing that would be... to do."

Gaston spanned the distance between them in three heavy steps. He put a massive hand on her shoulder. "I'm _not_ evil, Belle. I'm just a man who gets what he wants. And I want you."

Belle shook her head. "But why? There's plenty of very pretty girls in town who actually want what you have to offer—those triplets for a start."

"Anyone can slaughter a barnyard beast. But very few can fell the prize."

"But I'd never make you happy, Gaston," Belle retreated a few steps. "I read books, I use words you wouldn't begin to understand. I—I'm a terrible listener, at least when it comes to your stories. I find them... well, I find them tiresome!"

"My stories are amazing, like me!"

"But, they aren't!" Belle threw her hands up and took a breath to calm herself. "They aren't, not to me. It's the same story every time: Incredible Gaston goes out, kills something, brings it home, mounts it on his wall. Every time! It's just not interesting."

Gaston advanced on her. "Take that back."

"Other people find them interesting, yes," she said quickly, "but they do nothing for me. It's true, you know it is!"

Gaston raised a hand, as if to slap her. She flinched, and he brought his hand back down, looking away with a frown.

"Please, Gaston. Please, please." She looked up at him, attempting to reach the soul that she knew was there. She very gently placed her hand on his arm. "Just let me go."

He dropped his voice. "What, so you can go back to your monster?"

Belle looked down at her skirt. Her pleas were not enough to move him. She had failed to reach his humanity. She sighed. "How did you know that the Beast was real?"

"It was obvious. There were tracks upon the snow of a creature I've never seen before. I could only assume that this was your beast."

"But..." So, had the Beast come, after all? Had he followed her out into the night? Belle's head shot up, scanning Gaston's look, hoping for a reason to hope, trying to glean something more, "but why didn't you follow those tracks, then?"

"I always win, Belle."

She didn't understand and shook her head.

A satisfied little grin settled on his lips. "You had never lied so much in your life as you did tonight. You're not a liar, Belle. But you did it, just to save that thing. It was my chance—one prize for another."

One of Belle's eyebrows went up. "You are a far more... cunning man than I had ever realized, Gaston."

He smiled. "You don't get to be the best hunter in the world without brains. And you mounted on my wall would be the most impressive prize of all."

Belle shuddered. "I hope you mean that figuratively."

"I don't know what that means."

Belle thought for a moment. "Metaphorically. I hope you meant that metaphorically."

Gaston was starting to look angry. "Belle, I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't actually want my head cut off and actually put on your wall, do you?" She couldn't say 'literally'. He wouldn't get it. She continued. "_Actually _up there, in real life?"

"What?" Gaston seemed appalled. "No, I'm not a monster! What are you thinking?"

Belle looked away in some disgust. His plan made him hardly better than one.

Gaston walked back to his chair. "It's those books. They give you all sorts of strange ideas. When you're my wife, I'll break you of that. That's the first thing I'll do." He grinned. "Or maybe the second." The man gave a large yawn and sat down, seeming content. "Get your sleep, Belle. I need you to be a pretty bride tomorrow." He closed his eyes. "You can sleep in my bed tonight, because I'm just that swell of a guy."

She raised her eyebrow again. "Oh, how gallant of you, Gaston."

"What?" he said, opening one eye.

She shook her head and forced a tight smile. "Nothing."


	8. Ten Years is a Long Time, Son

**A/N: I altered Chapter 7 (on 6/4/10), so if you read the older version, you might want to go back and reread it. The changes don't affect the plot though, only the characterizations, so it's your choice. **

* * *

_Previously: Belle's with Gaston, and is in quite the pickle, as Gaston has given her two options: marry him or the Beast dies by Gaston's hands_._ Adam and Maurice were attempting to create a workable plan to save Belle when we last saw them._

* * *

Neither Adam nor Maurice had slept a wink as dawn approached. Adam looked up from the paper Maurice was scribbling on.

"I'm sorry to say this, but I really don't think this thing will work."

"It will," Maurice insisted, yet again. "We'll just grab her and zoom off, cutting down any trees in our way! I've just just to get this one doo-hickey to go... put it..." Maurice stopped talking, focusing again on nothing but the plans before him.

"And," Adam ventured, "what happens if Belle gets in the way?"

Maurice looked up. "Well, she can't! She'll have her legs cut clean off!"

Adam gave a quick nod as Maurice bent down again, looking back at the paper.

This was a terrible plan. Of course, it was the only one so far. Adam got up from the table and looked out the window. Belle was out there, she was in trouble, and yet... he smiled just a little smile. She loved him. Enough to break the curse. After ten years—and they had been so long, after all—after ten years, everything had a chance to be... all right.

He imagined them all, Lumiere, Cogsworth, Mrs. Potts, he imagined them celebrating with human arms and human legs and human hearts, praising whatever power they believed in, even praising the enchantress, because everything was right again with the world. They were all free.

Adam pulled out the mirror. "Show me Belle."

"It's barely dawn," Maurice said from behind him. "She's probably still sleeping. You can't keep doing that with the mirror. It's distracting."

Maurice was right. She was still sleeping, and it didn't look like a very pleasant sleep either.

_Probably the same type of sleep she had that first night, when she lost her father and her freedom, all because I was so selfish._

"Adam? Why don't you go outside and feed the chickens? It'll give you something to do."

Adam put the mirror down on the sill and turned. "Feed... the chickens?"

Maurice looked up. "Just toss them some seed."

Adam continued to stare at the older man.

"What, have you never fed livestock before?" Maurice chuckled to himself, turning back to his work. Then he looked up again. "You haven't fed livestock." The man's eyes narrowed. "Just how long were you...?" Maurice abruptly cleared his throat and looked down.

"Ten years."

"Ten... years?" Maurice's mouth stayed slightly agape as he stared, unabashed in his shock. "And how old are you now?"

"Today begins my twenty-first year."

"You... you were eleven years old? But that's the worst thing I've ever heard!"

Adam now cleared his own throat and made for the door. "I'll find the seed outside?"

"Hm?" Maurice shook his head. "Oh! Yes, yes. By the coop. It's in a bucket."

Adam pulled open the door.

"Ten years is a long time, son."

Adam turned around. "I needed every second to learn my lesson, monsieur, as you experienced firsthand. If you'll excuse me." The prince gave a slight bow with his head and exited the cottage.

Words like "monsieur" felt comforting to Adam. They were men's words, words he had never used as a beast. They made him feel civilized, something he had never been, even as a boy before the enchantress had come calling. But the servants had been civilized through it all, he knew, and he could imitate them, perhaps, and be different.


	9. Consent

"Be-elle," came a sing-song tone.

Belle opened her eyes, jerking herself up to a sitting position.

Gaston gave her his widest smile, now only a foot away from her face. "Good morning, my sweet."

"I am not your sweet, Gaston."

The smile turned alarming. "Oh, but you will be."

Belle pulled the blanket closer to her body.

The menace left Gaston's tone and face. "Time to get dressed. We have a wedding to go to."

Belle noticed that the outfit he wore was a fresh one, although it, like all his others, was red.

Gaston turned and thundered in his boots down the wooden stairs. "I made breakfast!"

Belle looked around the room, Gaston's bedroom. She hadn't noticed all the antlers last night. She shuddered.

Gaston's voice sounded from the downstairs. "But tomorrow, you'll make me breakfast!"

Belle put her palm against her cheek and shook her head. This was crazy.

"I like eggs!"

She slid her bare feet out from under the covers and landed on cold, rough planks. A gaudy white dress hung across the room from one of his chairs, an unpainted wooden chair. Neither the dress nor the chair looked very comfortable.

"And bacon!"

The room was large—a large fireplace, a large bed, larger windows. It was Gaston-sized, Belle supposed. She padded across the floor towards the dress and had a sudden, almost irresistable urge to rip the thing to shreds.

"As a bachelor, I just as often eat the eggs raw, shells and all. But I won't with you around!"

Belle scrunched her nose in disgust. She began to change into the white dress.

"Belle? Are you listening to me?"

She heard his boots heading in the direction of the stairs. Why didn't he have a door on his bedroom? Belle started scrambling to cover herself with the dress she had only halfway put on.

"Gaston! Wait! I'm not decent!"

Belle grasped the back of the garment and held it together where it buttoned just as Gaston came into view.

"Yes," he said, slowing his steps, "you are almost worthy of me in that. You're a vision. Can I help you with your buttons in the back?"

Belle stepped back a step. "No. No, I'll manage just fine, thank you."

Gaston strode over, ignoring her. "It's not anything I won't see tonight."

Belle backed up against the wall. "You don't honestly think— You don't really believe I'll—"

"Consummate our marriage?" He grinned, just like he had the night before.

"Gaston, I don't even like you!"

"Every woman likes Gaston. You will, too."

Gaston started to reach for her and she ducked under his arm, running to the other side of the room.

"I'm only marrying you because of what you'll otherwise do, but I'll never be your wife!" Belle was shouting now. "I'm not going to cook for you and clean for you and consummate anything with you!" The dress was starting to fall too far forward and she resumed her hold on the cloth in the back. "This is an arrangement you are forcing on me. Don't forget, I want no part of this! I despise you!"

"Hate me all you like, but a deal's a deal. You don't marry someone just to sit there and sulk. As my wife, you will have your responsibilities."

"I will never agree to that!"

Gaston's face had anger written all over it now. "Fine." He strode past her and onto the stairs.

Belle began to follow. "Where are you going?"

"To kill a beast."

"No!"

Belle hurried down the stairs and tried to grab his arm, but he shook her off. She fell on the ground.

"His head will look good there," Gaston pointed at a place on the wall above his chair. "Quite a prize."

Gaston picked up the musket Belle had dropped on the floor the night before.

"And _then_ I'll claim you for my own."

Gaston pulled her roughly to her feet.

Her eyes flashed defiance. "You'll never succeed. Beast is far stronger than you'll ever be. He'll rip you limb from limb."

"He won't even see me coming before I've felled him."

Belle knew that it was no empty boast. But there had been tracks in the snow the night before. _Beast, Beast, where are you?_

Gaston dragged her towards a closet, opened it, and then made to shove her in. He paused. "Belle, I'll give you one last chance to redeem yourself. Make me the happiest man in the world. Consent."


	10. Just Love Her, and Go From There

**A/N: Hey! Thanks for bearing with me while I'm working this story out. I'm pretty excited about this chapter, because this is when the gears start turning to move everything towards the conclusive end.**

**-Emily :D**

* * *

Maurice jumped when he heard the unmistakable sound of gun fire outside. He got up and ran to meet it.

"What's happening? Is everything all right?"

Then he saw the young man, the twenty one year old man, standing in the new light of the day, a gun against his right shoulder. Adam aimed, aimed, and Maurice jumped again as the gun fired.

He looked over to where Adam was shooting at, towards the little hill that rose off to one side, towards the castle beyond the woods. A bottle sat not too far off, and after both these shots it still looked as intact as ever.

"Adam?" Maurice said, not sure what the young man would do at the disturbance.

The younger man sighed, looking disappointed, and removed the gun from its place at his shoulder. He turned to Maurice.

Maurice tried a friendly smile. "Getting in a little practice?"

"For all the good it's doing. Took me a little while just to figure out how it even worked. I could have shot my face off, probably."

Maurice felt very sorry for the man. It was so clear that he wanted to do something to save Belle, but neither of them could figure exactly what he could do. Maurice, in this way, found the man a little endearing. He imagined that this must have been what Belle had seen in him all along. She had such a loving heart. Of course Belle would have found the good, even in a monster.

"Why don't you come inside?"

Adam nodded. Once they were in the cottage, Adam felt into a heavy chair and looked out the window. Maurice returned to the table and his plans.

"I have no skills." Maurice looked up to see Adam still gazing out the window. "I can't protect her. I can't fight. I can't shoot. I can't—" Adam looked over to Maurice and the table, "—do whatever it is that you're doing." Adam leaned toward Maurice. "Do you know, I couldn't even read or write much of anything until I met your daughter?" He shook his head. "The only use I was to anyone was as a beast. That's all I was good for. Brute force, like when I saved her from those wolves."

_Belle was endangered by wolves?_

Adam continued. "And now... now I understand how useless I am as a person. How useless I... always was."

Adam stared at Maurice intently for a moment and then turned away.

Maurice pitied the man now more than ever. "You love her, don't you?"

Adam turned around again, looking taken aback. He started what was about to become a protestation. "What? I—" He stopped, and his features cleared. "Yes. More than anything... or anyone. I love her."

"So," Maurice paused, "why don't you lead with that?"

"What?"

"It looks to me like you're sitting here, upset that you can't do violence, rush in and save my daughter. But I never raised my daughter to need a strong, violent man. All I ever hoped for was that she'd find someone to love her and understand why I think she's beautiful, and it has nothing to do with her appearance, as pretty as she is. I think you see that. This Gaston, he'd been trying to court her for quite sometime. I remember asking her about him one day. I said he was handsome. Do you know how she responded?"

"No. How?"

"She rolled her eyes, called him rude and conceited. She said he wasn't the man for her. And he has plenty of skills. He's famous several towns over for all his... heroic exploits. She wanted no part of it. My Belle," Maurice pointed to his mind and then his heart, "she lives here." Maurice gestured to the air. "Not as much out here." He gestured to his appearance. "And certainly, not here. You don't need to fight for her, Adam, using your fists or a gun. Just love her, and go from there."

Adam cocked his head to the side, letting out a noise of some sort, something between a "Hm" and a "Huh". Maurice could see the wheels turning, the expression changing as if the boy were one of his inventions. Maurice got up from the table and patted Adam on the shoulder. "My boy, you have my blessing."

Adam turned his face upwards and cautiously cracked a smile, although surprise was clear through a furrowed brow.

"You... really?"

Maurice nodded and sat down. "I'll admit, I'm surprised, too. But," he shot a glance over at the boy, "you're—you're not going to change back into that, that thing, are you?"

Adam frowned. "I... don't think so. There shouldn't be any reason for a," he paused, "return."

Maurice nodded. "Not on a full moon? Not at the prick of a spinning wheel?"

"A spinning wheel?" Adam shook his head. "No."

Maurice turned back to his plans, with a feeling of renewed vigor. He snatched them off the table, standing up with a little flourish.

"I'm off to the workshop! Get yourself cleaned up—"

Adam got up from his chair, looking as energized as Maurice felt. "I'll do you one better. Can I borrow your horse?"

Maurice scratched his head. "Of course. Why?"

"I'm going to lead with love."

Adam dashed out the door.

Maurice glanced at the door and then his plans, and nodded.

The door opened again. Adam's head appeared. He looked a little embarrassed.

"I don't know how to put the saddle on."

Maurice let out a small laugh. "Allow me."


	11. Only a Matter of When

**A/N: Sorry for the few days' delay. This is a Belle chapter. The last time we saw her, Gaston was threatening to lock her in a closet and go kill the Beast, but was offering her one final chance to consent to him. I tucked a little reference to a trope from TV Tropes in here, so that's for you, "Hidden in the Fourth Wall." Let the Scarpia Ultimatum plot continue!**

**-Emily :D**

* * *

Gaston and Belle sat across from each other. Belle chewed on the toast, the French toast. But there wasn't much chewing to be done. It was very soft. She swallowed.

"This—" she started.

"Yes?"

"This is actually," she paused again, "where did you learn to cook like this?"

"I'm a big man, Belle. I like food."

Belle frowned. She wondered which woman from the village had provided the food.

"More milk?"

Belle shook her head.

Gaston cut off another piece of his toast, a big piece, and put it in his mouth. He chewed, his cheeks distended by the sheer size of the bite.

Belle sighed and followed suit, although the piece that she cut off was far smaller than his.

"My mother used to make this for me every Sunday. Every Sunday."

Belle nodded.

"I expect you to continue the tradition for our sons."

"Gaston—"

He shot her a dangerous look and she fell silent.

There was no foreseeable way to escape this trap. Belle was caught.

She shifted in the white dress, the thing just as uncomfortable on as she had suspected that it would be. A cloth napkin hung from it, tucked into the neckline. It hid a little of her so exposed flesh, and for this, she was grateful.

Belle once again shot a furtive glance around herself, as if this move, one she had performed more than a dozen times already this morning, would yield any further ideas than the zero she had come up with so far.

"I'm sending LeFou to get your father for the wedding."

Belle nodded again. Hopefully, her father had made it far, far from the cottage by now. That itself would be a relief.

She studied the man across from her as he shoved another enormous piece of food in his mouth. He was more cunning than she had ever realized. The plan to get her to marry him first with the threat of locking up her father and now threatening to kill the Beast, who he could tell she truly cared for-him even realizing that her lies were lies at all and the significance of such an act on her part: maybe he wasn't book smart, but he certainly had a brain.

But why on Earth was marrying her so absolutely important to him, she wondered. After all... Belle watched his movements, all of them entirely unconcerned about anything but the food in front of him, and then she decided. He didn't love her, not a whit. It really was just... misplaced pride that prompted his actions. And now that pride had made him force himself into her relationship with the Beast, making the simple line that connected her to the Beast into a whole different form: a triangle.

_And now he wants to murder the hypotenuse_, she thought with a little shudder. She reached out and took a sip of milk to hide the action in retrospect and gave a little smile to Gaston, who had looked up.

What assurances did she have that Gaston wouldn't go after the Beast after the wedding? He had threatened to kill the Beast and then come back and marry her anyway even if she refused the original deal, so who was to say that the reverse was also not true, that he'd marry her and _then_ kill the Beast?

Again, it was his misplaced pride that she had to contend with. If Gaston truly believed her about there being a beast, and she sincerely believed that he did believe her, why would he bother to resist the urge to hunt the Beast, kill him, and mount the stuffed head above his mantle or in the tavern? Gaston had threatened murder already, did she really believed he'd let the Beast alone only because he gave his word?

Belle cut off another piece and put it in her mouth.

No, Belle decided, she didn't believe that at all. Gaston would hunt the Beast regardless of what she did. It was only a matter of when.

And how successful Gaston would be, Belle figured, was wholly contingent on how far in advance she got word to the castle.

"Gaston," Belle said, swallowing her bite, "do you really believe I'm beautiful?"

Gaston looked taken aback. "Well, yes," he said through the food in his mouth. He swallowed it all in a gulp. Gaston leaned forward, giving a winning sort of grin. "You could even be..."

"What?"

"As beautiful as me."

"Oh," Belle feigned a surprised, flattered look. "Surely, you don't mean that."

"I do mean that!" Gaston shouted, powering forward. "I'm not sure that my handsomeness and your beauty can really be compared, but you as a woman, and me as a man-I'm certain there's no more attractive couple in France! In... the world!" Belle hardly had the chance to make a sound before Gaston charged on. "I'm the best, and you're the best-looking girl in town! We were made for each other!" He dropped his voice. "Picture the sons we'll have... even if they inherit your looks and your..."

"Temperment?" Belle supplied. Gaston began to frown and Belle quickly amended with, "Personality!"

"Personality, yes! That's the word I was looking for. Even if they inherit all those things from you, they'll still be worthy of me!"

"I always did want a few sons," Belle said with a wistful note. Not wanting to appear too agreeable, she added with a sigh, "But I also always wanted a daughter."

Gaston considered this for a moment. "You say you want a daughter, hm?"

Belle looked down and away, waiting.

Gaston slammed his fist on the table, making her jump a little. "Then you'll have a daughter! She'll be even more beautiful than you are, maybe with my blue eyes! You'll probably need some help in the kitchen after we have a few of our sons."

"I certainly will," Belle said with a smile.

Gaston suddenly gave her a sidelong look. "Why are you suddenly argeeing with me?"

Belle shrugged. "It's not like I have a choice. Besides, I suppose there are worse things than being forced to marry the handsomest, strongest, most accomplished man in town."

"So true."

"And... I think it's very sweet that you cooked me breakfast."

"I told you I was full of surprises." Gaston got up and started clearing the table. "Don't get used to me doing this kind of stuff. This is women's work."

"Of course."

Belle removed the napkin and followed him into the kitchen, where she was surprised to see a bit of mess. Dishes sat out on the counters, pieces of egg shell were on the floor.

It was obvious. He really had made her breakfast.

Belle's eyebrows went up. The fact that he had cooked such food, and in an expert way, that more than every trophy on the wall showed him to be a dangerous man. He had here a semblance of depth, and that wasn't at all what she needed him to have if she wished to outwit him and win her life back, and the Beast's.

Outwit Gaston? She never thought such a task would be difficult. But, here she was, standing in his kitchen, only a few hours away from being pledged as eternally his.

Gaston squeezed her shoulder as he passed by, on his way to clear the rest of the table. He glanced at her.

She steadied herself and smiled back, directly to his face.


	12. Home

A/N: Wooooo! Update! Finally! I had a hard time getting this chapter on the page, but here we go.

Here we have another Adam chapter. Last time, he rushed off from Maurice's house on horseback.

Emily :D

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Here he was, back, finally. This was his home.

Adam kicked into Phillipe's sides.

The trip hadn't been difficult to make, although it had taken longer than he had anticipated. Balancing on the horse and riding it was no problem; he had ridden often as a boy and discovered now that his training had never left him. This, he was grateful for. It was a skill, the first skill he realized that he truly possessed. No, his trouble instead consisted of simply finding his way back to the castle after so many years locked up in the place, trapped by the choices he had made.

One bad choice amongst a thousand.

The bare trees looked less foreboding, it seemed, less like things reaching to come out and snag unwary passersby. Adam felt he could almost see the green leaves inside the branches, waiting for spring, just as he had waited for so many years.

And here he was.

Phillipe slowed as they reached the gates. They stood before him, enormous things. One gate sat open, just as he had left it last night, bounding on all fours. His body had been a beast then, but his soul had been transformed long before then.

He wanted to see the place, he had to see it.

Home.

"Come on, Phillipe," he urged.

He cleared the gate and when he looked ahead, his gasp caught in throat, sounding like a strangled something.

The castle was blinding, blinding and white with the morning sun shining forth from the east to illuminate each marble block, each angelic statue—each incredible, amazing thing that made up this castle, his castle, the place he had cursed for so long as a prison, now a paradise.

Memories, at once piercing and vague and dream-like, came rushing back into his mind's eye. He had had parents once... It was long ago, but still. He could almost, just barely remember. A woman with eyes just like his own. She had smiled so joyfully. Her smile, it reminded him of another. It reminded him of Belle.

Maybe it was what love looked like.

And Adam realized that he, too, was smiling. He wondered if, perhaps, now he looked beautiful, just as they had.

While the castle was itself so white, it was the colors of everything that drew his eyes, his stares, a welcome assault on his perceptions. The roof tiles, they were so red, such a brilliant, cheery, passionate shade. They set off the vibrant sky. It was blue, such a simple fact, and yet so arresting. He loved this place, he realized.

He was home.

Adam alit from Phillipe and patted his neck. "Thank you."

He couldn't possibly waste time stabling the horse. "Stay here."

There was so much to see and to do. And so many welcomes to make.

He walked across the white stones to the almost impossibly large doors—his doors. Three knocks. But, no, he realized he couldn't wait for an answer.

He pushed on the great things, and they gave way, revealing the castle hall.

Even on the night of the ball, just last night, the main hall did not look like this, or rather, it had never felt like this. It was as if joy was a color, or some invisible paint, and a ghost had painted it over every surface with a liberal hand.

Adam heard muffled voices coming from his parlour. He followed them, certain of a warm welcome, and then it occurred to him: perhaps this was the inverse of what Maurice had experienced. Maurice had not been certain of anything. He had followed the voices he heard out of desperation and fear. Adam had no such concerns. Yet, even this consideration couldn't kill the joy in his heart, not at this moment, although it did color his thoughts with a shade of regret.

Perhaps the regret was good, though. Perhaps it meant that the lesson had been learned.

"...and what if something has happened, Lumiere?" Adam knew that voice. Cogsworth.

"Nothing has happened, mon ami! They are young, in love—let them have some time to themselves!" Lumiere gave a meaningful laugh.

"We don't know what happened to them. Shouldn't they have returned? It's morning!"

A woman's voice, a motherly, kind voice, cut in with a gentle tone, "Surely, they're fine. After all, the spell is broken. Why don't you just go take a little rest?"

"Mrs. Potts," the man sounded pained, "I don't need rest. I need peace of mind, which I do not have at present!

Another voice, a frenchwoman's voice. Her tone was thick with her admonishment. "Cogsworth, why must you be such a worrywart! We are human! You should be celebrating, not finding another reason why everything will go wrong."

"Everything could go wrong, Miss Babette, and mark my words, it will."

"Pish!"

Adam pushed open the door, entering the room to see three human beings gathered around a chair where a fourth man with a long nose and honey-colored hair, Lumiere, had sprawled out. He knew them, each of them. All four heads turned and shock dominated the scene. For a moment, no one spoke.

"Master..." Cogsworth said. He had no more words, and closed his mouth, which had been hanging slightly open.

"It is like a dream..." said the Frenchwoman, a slender, beautiful maid. Adam knew her, not well, but he knew: she was called Babette. She was important to Lumiere.

Adam was suddenly very glad he knew this fact about the servant woman.

Mrs. Potts stepped forward. Slowly, a smile settled on her features. "Oh, Master Adam!" She flung her arms around him. "Welcome home, dear!"

Adam put his arms around the woman, too, closing his eyes and returning the hug, feeling far younger than his age. "Thank you," he whispered.

Yes, this was home.

Mrs. Potts sniffed as she pulled away. "My boy," she said, "of course."

Lumiere carefully removed himself from the seat.

"Master... I was keeping it... warm..."

But Adam only went up and embraced him too, and then Cogsworth, who blushed mightily.

Babette spoke next. "But where is the girl?"

Adam pulled away from Cogsworth and looked over to the former feather duster.

"That's why I'm here. She's in trouble."

Cogsworth straightened up. "I knew it! I knew something was wrong!"

"Don't look so triumphant," Lumiere said.

Mrs. Potts placed a hand on Adam's arm. "What's happened, dear?"

"There's a man, and she's marrying him today unless I can stop her."

"Sacre bleu!" cried Lumiere.

"But the spell is broken!" Babette stepped over to Lumiere, to stand beside him, lean against him. "That means that she loves you. I do not believe that she would marry another, certainly not after seeing you as you are now." A smirk, seemingly unbidden, rose to her lips. "Not when—"

"How did this occur?" Mrs. Potts cut in, once again.

"From the beginning, Master," Cogsworth added.

And so Adam told them as rapidly as he could the events that had transpired during the previous evening. All the appropriate outrage was there from Adam's audience of four as the story came out. They each were flabbergasted that breaking the curse was so simple, horrified that the man had tried to throw the girl's father into a lunatic asylum unless she married him and no one seemed to miss how completely bizarre it was that Adam had not yet even seen Belle since the transformation. They all, too, were horrified that Adam had transformed barely halfway to Belle's cabin, and that he had walked barefoot through the snow. He tried to tell them it was fine, that Maurice had taken care of him, that it hadn't taken all that long after all, but they refused to stop looking so concerned on his behalf. If anything, it annoyed him. They could see he was fine, but what about Belle?

She didn't even know that... that he was human. Had she ever known? Ever suspected, even?

_"Everyone has a name."_

Belle had said that, just before she left. She had asked for a name, his name, to carry with her after she had gone. And he had refused.

"...Master?"

Lumiere was the one who had spoken, but they all were staring at him openly. He wondered for how long his mind had been so thoroughly lost in his thoughts.

"Yes, Lumiere, what did you ask me?"

"How do you plan on rescuing the girl? I was saying there's an assault on the village, royal decree, public hanging—"

"Eh hem," said Cogsworth, "I do believe that the guillotine's gaining traction. Very humane."

"Yes, of course," the former candelabra continued, "the guillotine. Aside from that, we could kidnap her back, and provide for her father here, although that plan might be a little more difficult in the middle of the daytime."

Adam put a hand up. "We don't need any guillotines or anything like that. The man who has her is a violent man, but I'm... not that kind of man."

"Perhaps we could just slip a message to the poor girl," Mrs. Potts said. "Let her know what's happened here so she knows there is less danger for us so that she feels comfortable refusing the man."

"But just telling her might not be enough," Cogsworth cut in.

"And what if she doesn't believe that we are the same people?" Babette said.

"Cogsworth, prepare the carriage. Lumiere, I'm going to need my best clothes."

Both Lumiere and Cogsworth nodded and left the room.

"What are you planning, dear?"

Adam looked to Mrs. Potts, "I'm going to save her, but I'm going to... fight without fists or guns."

Babette's eyebrows went up. "That's a very pretty turn of phrase, Master."

"I know. It isn't mine." He paused, thinking for a moment. And then, just for a moment, he couldn't think of anything.

"Shall I bring you some tea, dear? You look exhausted."

"No, I'm fine." He rubbed his eyes. They felt dry, and like something was in them. His mind checked out again.

"...Master Adam?"

"Yes. Bring the tea."

Mrs. Potts bustled out of the room, leaving him alone with the former feather duster.

"You," he said, pointing at her.

"Babette," she supplied.

"I know your name."

"Oh," she said softly.

He frowned, seeing that she looked a little wilted. Perhaps what he had said had come out a little harsh.

It seemed that the Beast remained, even now.

"I'm sorry, I—"

But the woman looked up with such surprise on her face that it stopped all his words.

_Beast._

"I'm sorry," he repeated, and left it at that.

She smiled now, politely, he thought, if he were to describe it further. But then she placed a hand on his arm. She didn't say anything, but Adam thought he understood. This was forgiveness, and not just for what had happened in the previous minute.

"What shall I do?" the woman asked, her voice gentle.

Adam sat in the armchair and looked up at her. "I'm going to need my crown."


	13. Dearly Beloved

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..."

And that was how it began.

Belle looked down and away from the priest, and down and away from Gaston. She had failed to get word to the castle and failed to make any additional communication with her father, but, but—

LeFou had confirmed it. Her father had escaped. Gaston had been angry, but, oddly, not as angry as Belle had anticipated, not as much as he normally became when things didn't go his way. Belle had her suspicions as to why: Gaston could hazard a guess where her father had gone. Beast was warned and was coming, the prey was coming. Thus, the hunt was on. Gaston had only to wait. Belle's glance grazed the musket standing between them. He had it with him, here, at the altar he and the others had erected in the middle of the town square. No one had objected, not even the priest. Apparently, the irony of its presence in the middle of a sacrament was lost on all of them, as was the apropos nature of an instrument of violence separating Belle and Gaston as it, after all, always had.

Belle also thought the Beast, _her_ Beast, was coming, but he was armed with knowledge, and this thought sustained her. She prayed his impulsiveness wouldn't get the best of him, that he'd master himself enough to approach it all logically, anything but come charging out as he had those months ago with the wolves. But, yet, she didn't really actually worry that he would come at it recklessly. That animalistic side of him had died down with time. She could trust him now, trust his judgement, trust his instincts, trust him decisions, trust _him_. And it made her feel relieved, at peace, and yet, it also awakened a spark. The Beast, her Beast, had become inextricably bound to her. Now that she no longer felt bound by a threat to his life, she felt free to be alive again herself.

And so she would risk it without fear.

"—until death do you part?"

Gaston looked out at the assemblage. He grinned. "I think that's why we're all here."

They all laughed, even though what he had said hadn't been all that amusing.

Gaston made his face serious. "I do."

"And do you, Belle..."

Belle levelled her gaze up, directly on Gaston's face. His look was smug, unconcerned, entirely at ease. He took on the pose of a victor, with an elbow casually rested on the butt of his musket.

Of course, perhaps it was the gun itself that created the ease.

"...until death do you part?"

The Beast had not arrived in time to save her. But she hadn't needed him to, not really. Not now.

Belle spoke as clearly as she could. "No."

The crowd, which had been pleasantly quiet, whispers here and there, fidgeting and casual and happy, became completely still.

The priest's eyes grew a little wider than they had been. "I-I-I beg your pardon, what?"

"I will not marry Gaston today or on any other day because I neither love him nor respect him because of who he is, and who you, Father, know him to be: a selfish and callous bully."

And now the stirrings started.

Belle turned to Gaston and this close, his eyes filled much of her field of vision. She watched the black within the blue shrink to almost nothing. Her heart made an uncomfortable little flutter in her chest as a spasm of fear shot through her whole body. But she didn't let her presence convey this reality to him, and she turned back to the priest, attempting to keep herself entirely composed.

The priest's little glasses had fallen down his nose. He adjusted them and glanced to Gaston, before looking even more flustered, and then looking down. "Monsieur, shall I—?"

"But you said you'd marry me."

Belle glanced up at Gaston again, hearing the simple, surprised tone coming from him. The look on his face wasn't anger as it seemed like it initially was becoming. He looked... hurt.

Belle shook her head. "Gaston... you couldn't have thought..." She paused, narrowing her eyes as she looked at him, trying to somehow make him understand something that should have been so obvious. "You forced me into this, you threatened someone I cared about. Why would I want to be your wife after that?"

She felt a flicker of guilt then, even though she knew she had done nothing wrong. "Gaston, I—"

And then turned as she heard a squealing sound, and Gaston turned too, and the whole crowd was turning to see what it was, people were covering their ears, it was such a loud sound, a terrible sound, she _knew_ that sound.

And then Belle saw it, charging down the path, a gigantic machine fronted by sweeping knives and saws and on the top rode her father, goggles over his eyes enlarging them to three times their normal size. People were screaming, leaping out of the way, men and women alike, all of them scrambling and trying to get away from the madness.

"Papa!"

A shot boomed over the existing cacophony and Belle watched the machine pitch sideways, throwing her father off, him rolling and the machine rolling and it breaking off into component pieces as he ended in a heap, legs sticking up oddly above his head.

"_Papa!_"

Belle started forward, but a firm, large hand captured her upper arm. She turned to its owner, to Gaston, as he used his other hand to place a smoking musket at his side.

"Papa?"

The townsfolk had stopped screaming and stared openly at the scene, waiting, waiting for something.

Her father didn't stir.

Belle tried to wrench away. "Let go of me!" But his arm might as well have been made of solid iron. She looked up at him and saw her own desperation reflected in the drolling satisfaction on his face.

"It's a shame about your father, Belle."

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A/N: Hey, everybody! I'm finally updating! Thanks for your patience with it!


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